


Gilding the Lily

by LelithSugar



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Drabble, Established Harry Hart | Galahad/Gary "Eggsy" Unwin, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Humor, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Romance, Sexual Content, Slice of Life, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-07 18:59:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12847461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LelithSugar/pseuds/LelithSugar
Summary: Eggsy gets a tattoo. It's not what he'd have expected, if you'd asked him when he was twelve, sixteen, twenty even...But then, not a lot of things are.





	Gilding the Lily

**Author's Note:**

> Just a silly little thing to help me past a bit of a writer's block. It was in my head so hopefully someone will enjoy it!

There are very few places in the body where a tattoo wouldn't be a compromising identifying feature, but if anyone ended up getting close enough to see this, Eggsy figured he'd already be so fucked it wouldn't  be relevant.

It seemed a great idea until he'd got to the practicalities of it and, after a great deal of explaining, gesturing and laughter, ended up in an awkward sprawl half on his side in the tattoo artist’s chair, wearing a t shirt on his top half but otherwise bollock naked, spread eagled and with one foot on the arm of the chair whilst the tattoo artist fussed around with caps of ink on a tray between his legs. 

“Bloody hell, you're flexible, ain't ya?”

“Used to do gymnastics,” Eggsy offered and managed not to wink at him. He was grateful he'd had the foresight not only for the world's most tip-top thorough wash - so he was as minimally self conscious as was possible given that he was spread out With a total stranger rummaging around down there - but a wax as well, which he maintained a suspicion might actually turn out to have been more painful than the tattoo itself. It felt nice though, after: he was definitely considering making that routine. Shame he hadn't got to let harry have a feel of how soft and smooth he was but he’d purposely timed the whole process for when Harry would be away for at least a fortnight , because ordinarily he was such a hopeless slag for him there was no way he wouldn't suspect something was amiss if Eggsy pulled away every time he grabbed hold of his arse or tucked a hand down the back of his trousers, and that would spoil the surprise. 

For the moment, the design rested on a sheet of transfer paper, roughly torn down so that its edges followed the shape of the image and could be sat neatly into the shape of its location on his body. Completed, it would come to sit at the very very top of his inside thigh. Higher than you would ever tuck a tape measure for an inseam. So high that it would be totally invisible when standing, walking, any normal range of movement that didn’t involve his legs being completely akimbo would fold it away neatly.

So like... technically it was the top of his leg, but it was so, so high up that it was more or less inside his arse crack, if he was to be honest. There were quite clearly only very specific circumstances under which anyone was ever going to get to see it, and the tattoo artist was being remarkably polite about it. They see it all though, don't they?

“Could you just, like..” the tattooist trailed off and made a sort of cupping gesture as he tried to get in as close as he needed to.

“Hold me bollocks out the way?”

“That's the one.”

_ That _ high up on his thigh. 

So it was a bit awkward but at least that took Eggsy’s mind off the fact the guy was swabbing down the skin with rubbing alcohol that stang something  _ stupid _ on the two-day-old wax job. The tattooist peeled the backing off the paper and pressed it down into Eggsy’s skin with the side of his gloved hand, rolling to smooth it out, and fresh sense memory made Eggsy tense up in preparation for the wax strip to be torn away but ah, no, and thank fuck the tattoo artist was intently absorbed in Eggsy’s crotch because otherwise he might have seen the look on his face and that would've been way more embarrassing on the scale of things. 

“You a trolley dolly?” he asked after reassuring Eggsy for the fourth time that his choice  wouldn't be at all visible unless he made an effort to show it, hidden between his legs and behind his junk, and Eggsy had gone along with it; he'd been in a suit the first time he'd popped in to book the appointment, which helped.  “Yeah, I heard  British airways are well funny about it. I thought you just couldn't have anything that would show but they spotted one lass who comes in here when they did the water rescue training and apparently it had to go.” He pressed the pedal to test the machine a couple of times and settled in. “What the fuck? As if you're going to be stripping down to a swimsuit when your plane’s fallen out the fucking sky. As if you're going to be bothered about someone's tramp stamp when you're miraculously rescued from fiery burning death.”

Eggsy managed a laugh even as the nerves kicked in properly, because it was a fair point. 

“Youth of today,” tsssk-ed the tattoo artist, gamely.  Eggsy wriggled his hips down and pressed his knees further apart when bidden: It was that or sling his leg over the man’s back and that seemed a step too far even given the circumstances. The artist put his foot back to the pedal.

Eggsy bit the knuckles on his free hand to brace for the pain but it wasn't that bad. Alarming and alien, but not exactly excruciating, though at a couple of points he had to fight to keep his leg from twitching as the site was cleaned off with alcohol and the buzzing of the needle resumed again. He couldn't see a lot other than the water the artist was rinsing the needles off in swirling first with black, then deep blue, then muddling to grey, and it felt so much bigger than the couple of inches across the stencil had been, but he knew it couldn't be. 

Mostly he just felt very hot, very quickly. His hands and feet tingled with cold but he could feel sweat dampening his t-shirt at the small of his back and sticking his bare flesh to the vinyl of the chair, and with each wiggling grind of the needle the pain would graduate from a scratch to a deep burn. 

Yeah, alright, it hurt. Not badly enough to want to stop, and kind of interesting in a strange way , but badly enough that Eggsy was glad when the artist said, on a wipe down, that they were nearly done. 

At one point, apparently at the very top of the design, the sharpness of the scratch combined with the depth of the gun’s vibration had got a surprised, uncomfortable little ‘oooh’ noise out of him, the tattoo artist had looked up from between his thighs to check he was alright and they'd shared a moment so plainly absurd that the tattoo artist had to stop for a minute to compose himself from laughing.

By the time it was finished, Eggsy was more bothered by the stitch he was getting from the position he was twisted to hold than the tattoo itself, but it was definitely sore.

It looked so pretty though, when they managed to get the mirror at such an angle by his knees that he could actually see it. Bright, despite the pinpricks of blood bubbling up through the aqua and royal blues and the thick red swelling. It didn't look real at all, but like one of the transfers they used to stick on your arms at primary school discos. Eggsy suppressed a giddy laugh, guessing it was the adrenaline: he’s actually gone and got a tattoo, and it was not by any stretch what he'd have imagined if you'd asked him when he was twelve, sixteen, twenty, what he'd end up with.

Not a lot of things were, to be honest. 

The artist patched him up, handed him a care sheet and a couple of Mepore dressings. Eggsy dressed and paid up, in a bit of a daze. Gratefully accepted a lollipop offered by the receptionist and wondered if it came with a sticker. 

“You'll want to re-cover it after washing until it’s healed, because it's quite a moist area...”

“Yeah, cheers, can you not say ‘moist’?”

“Well it is!” But the artist laughed with him. “Take it easy until until it's fully healed, give it about ten days, you’ll notice it form like crusty layer and then peel. No picking at it, no strenuous exercise, no swimming. No… touching, licking or anything else that's going to aggravate it until then, okay?”

He'd elbowed him with a grin and Eggsy genuinely couldn't tell if the guy was flirting with him or just being straight-man awkward. 

“I'll manage.”

There were a number of ensuing indignities Eggsy failed to consider, too. He'd walked  _ worse,  _ but there was a bit of a swagger to walking with a very sore spot and a square of gauze poking you in the taint. Gym was off the cards for two days, which was fine, then on the fourth the itching started which was so alarming he'd ended up phoning the tattoo studio rather than just googling it like a normal person, which of course had produced the same results: thank fucj Harry wasn't home for the moment Eggsy succumbed to laying on his back on the sofa, blissfully rubbing straight-from-the-fridge bepanthen behind his balls. 

Of course by that point he’d had to tell Roxy, who'd laughed so hard she'd cried her apparently waterproof mascara off at the concept and at his description of his days of escalating indignity. She'd sobered up abruptly when he'd got self conscious and asked her if she thought it was stupid, if Harry was going to hate it.

“Oh Eggsy, the two of you. He’ll be made up. When's he home?”

“Tuesday, all being well.”

Three on Tuesday afternoon, as it turned out, with enough notice for Eggsy to be freshly out of the shower but dried off enough not to look too obvious about it. Harry had sounded alright on the phone but Eggsy was always prepared to put a hold on everything when he came in. No need: harry came in uninjured, healthy, not giving any of his tells of distress whilst he hung his coat up by the door and started work on his tie as Eggsy trotted over to cuddle him.

“It's good to see you, darling.” Harry wrapped him in a hug.

“How was it?”

“Horribly dull.”

“Sweet as. Dull gets you home safe.”  It was always true.  Eggsy reckoned they'd had enough excitement to last them a good long while and the best bit of any mission was this: getting in the door in one piece, either together or one coming home to the other, grateful kissing in the hallway turning hotter as relief of reunion gave way to remembering that it had been however long since they last had their hands on each other. Too long, invariably, but this could wait. 

“Harry...” He drew his name out to a good six syllables when they wound the snogging down a notch. “I've got a surprise for you!”

“Oh?” Harry was clearly more interested in rubbing his nose into the clippered hair behind Eggsy’s ear, sniffing at him, kissing down his neck.

“Mhmm. You can see it at bedtime.”

“Oh it's  _ that _ sort of surprise,” Harry chuckled, low and happy.

“Kinda.”

“Would it be cheating if I were to bring bedtime forward a few hours?” Harry stretched into a dramatic fake yawn, inadvertently making himself actually yawn in the process. “It's been a long trip, I'm awfully tired. Jet lag, and all that…”

“From Belgium?”

“Would you rather I waited patiently?”

Eggsy took the stairs two at a time. 

With the door shut against the world - and unwanted dog cuddles - Eggsy let harry strip him, slowly, obviously having considered that whatever Eggsy had orchestrated might be just under the first layer of clothing, but they were both down to  boxers and still, nothing was apparent and he was surprisingly easy to distract. 

Eggsy took over then, hooking his thumbs in his pants and pulling them smoothly down and off in one long bend that sat him down on the bed with his legs still together, Harry almost falling on top of him in a hurry to kneel between Eggsy’s knees and keep kissing at his chest, down his stomach... 

He'd had the wax job touched up and Jesus, that didn't get any easier, but it was worth it both for the effect and for the accidental decoy that Harry saw the difference and thought that was what he was supposed to notice.

“Lovely,” Harry murmured into the crease where Eggsy’s thigh touched his ballsack, nose to velvet-soft and smooth skin, so different to even a fresh shave. “Did it hurt?”

“Like a motherfucker. Unbelievable.” Eggsy accepted the soothing kiss Harry placed at the line of his groin and let him nuzzle his way to the root of his cock, almost ready to be distracted by the touch of his tongue.  “That ain't it though.”

“You spoil me.”

With all the drama he could muster whilst being quick enough that Harry wouldn't ask what he was up to, Eggsy shifted his knees up and open, tilting his back, using Harry's proximity to be sure his eyes would be drawn straight to the bright blue butterfly now resting prettily in his skin. He'd even rubbed a little baby oil into it so it was all soft and shiny, as beautiful as possible for Harry's first look. 

A split second's silence.  


“ _ Phengaris arion,”  _  Harry whispered so reverently it was almost a gasp, and yes, that was something like the reaction Eggsy was hoping for. He was gently proud of the way it had come out, vivid but soft like a realistic watercolour, deep with detail that had been worth every second, but it was how Harry felt about it that mattered. _ “ _ It’s… they’re my favourite.” It was a statement of quiet wonder, rather than new information, Harry well aware that there was no way it was coincidence and Eggsy gave him a moment to just let that thought soak in. 

“Yeah. Funny, that.”  

Harry didn't say anything stupid, didn't ask if it was for him and give Eggsy an excuse for the volley of fond sarcasm he'd prepared for the occasion.  Besides, Eggsy had checked the image a hundred times and it was still a relief to hear that it was so instantly recognisable. The tattoo artist had given him a weird enough look for wanting a butterfly, of all things, nestling so sweetly behind his nutsack... then Eggsy'd had to get weirdly specific about the exact breed of butterfly and they'd straight up thought he was taking the piss: he wasn't about to tell them his boyfriend was an amateur lepidopterist, take three attempts to say it and then be asked what it meant, again, only to get a lecture. No regrets. 

“You-” Harry seemed to start and reconsider on several questions. “Did  _ that _ hurt?”

“Not as much as I thought.” Now there was a missed opportunity if ever Eggsy had seen one go by, so he wriggled his hips and hammed it up.  “I mean, yes Harry it was agony and I’ve been a very brave soldier and definitely need it kissed better.”

“May I? Is it healed enough, can I touch it?” Harry sounded fascinated. Eggsy had planned on asking him if he liked it but somehow that seemed gratuitous. Instead he brought his feet up onto to the bed and put his weight into them, lifting his hips to show it off better. 

“Uhuh, it's all good. Ten days old already. You can do whatever you want.” Eggsy thought about the tattoo artist’s stern advice, but it was true: the final coloured flakes of peeling skin had come away on the flannel over the weekend.

Harry dived in and put his lips to the skin, covering the design with just a couple of warm, soft kisses and then pulling back to look at it again, to indulge the impulse to admire with his hands. Eggsy knew that you never, ever touch a butterfly’s wings; you don't touch them at all, ideally, but this one was for Harry to pet all he wanted. Somewhere off the side of the heartfelt sincerity, that was sort of the idea, and Eggsy’s cock was starting to remind him that Harry could be doing something besides admiring the decor whilst he was down there, but he didn't want to rush him. Much. Mind you, it's not like it was going to fly away or wash off. 

“It's remarkable, the way the white shows up. And all the feathering, I've never seen… Can I take a picture of it?”

“What?” The sensation of the back of Harry's nail running over the newly healed skin was so uncomfortably intense, so wonderful, in its own way, that Eggsy had trouble re-focussing on the conversation.  “Yeah, if you like. Can you…” he shifted his hips,  “...not now though, Harry, yeah?”

“Of course, my darling. I'm sorry.” Harry shook himself out of his trance and shuffled for comfort on his front, propping himself on his elbows and pushing his hands under Eggsy to grab an arse cheek in each palm. That was more like it. Harry could take all the pictures he wanted later, could pin one up on the wall with his other butterflies; could set one as his phone screensaver and gleefully play  _ ‘guess where on my boyfriend’s body this is _ ’ with strangers for all Eggsy cared as long as he made good on the way his breath was warming the skin he was exposing by holding him open like that.

“But it is very beautiful. I love it. I love you.” Eggsy could hear the magnitude of emotion threatening to overwhelm Harry only just being kept in check by surprise, and there would be time for gratitude and weepy cuddling later. 

“Too fucking right.”

Harry lifted Eggsy’s hips up and started by kissing at the design again, opening his mouth to press his tongue against the skin, wriggling closer to tease further back just as Eggsy’s body lit up with the need for it. Eggsy’s cock twitched against his belly as Harry gently pushed his hips up, curling Eggsy up as he pushed forwards, breath hot and damp against the incredibly sensitive skin. 

“That's an  _ extremely _ thorough waxing you've had.” Harry made his point with more kisses, with a flat, slow swipe of his tongue that took Eggsy’s breath away.

“You're fucking telling me! Seriously, they do not mess about.”

Harry laughed and that just tickled, sent more warmth flooding over and through Eggsy’s body at the dirty throwaway intimacy of having this conversation with Harry’s face just casually buried in Eggsy’s arse, as if incidentally close to where that vivid blue butterfly newly marked him as his.  


“Exactly how much of the time I've been away have you spent with your thighs around people’s ears?”

Eggsy rolled his weight back onto his shoulders and locked his knees together behind Harry’s neck. 

“I’m hoping the right answer is ‘not as much as I’m about to’?”  
  
Harry’s answer was genuinely too muffled in his body for Eggsy to understand, but he thought it might have been _“correct”_ and yeah, as it turned out, he was definitely right about that one.

 

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I'm grateful for any feedback and/or encouragement.  
> I can be found on Tumblr under randomactsofviolence


End file.
